


On Properly Appreciating Canadian Products

by shihadchick



Category: due South
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-07
Updated: 2006-02-07
Packaged: 2017-10-14 12:18:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/149166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shihadchick/pseuds/shihadchick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fraser does not return from Canada empty-handed. Nor empty-trousered.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On Properly Appreciating Canadian Products

**Author's Note:**

> For [Joy](http://rhythmsextion.livejournal.com).

When Frannie became the third person in about as many minutes to shove Ray away from her desk and tell him to get lost (and wow, but that fingernail to the chest thing actually really hurt) he had to conclude that, yeah, maybe the problem was him and not them after all. Snarling, he stalked off, slamming into the bathroom to collapse into one of the stalls and just sit there to cool off a bit for a while.

So, point 1. He was having a shitty day. Nothing was going right and he had an itch the size of Texas at the base of his neck, mostly concerned with the fact that he had a burning desire to kick someone in the head. Point B. Fraser had been in Canada for a week and a half and should've been back hours ago. So, maybe Ray'd kinda been hoping the big red freak would stop by when he got in. Maybe he'd missed him a little. Hadn't missed jumping off buildings and dumpster diving nine days out of ten, that was for sure, but maybe he a little bit missed Fraser. And Dief, of course. No way those points were related, right?

He buried his face in his hands, elbows propped up comfortably on his knees and groaned. Right. He was going to go back out there, solve something with a brilliant leap of logic, wipe that look of intense irritation right off Welsh's face and prove that he didn't need the Mountie to be a good cop. After about five more minutes of wallowing, that was.

About two minutes and thirty seconds into his sulking time he heard the door swing open, Huey or Dewey coming in to razz him about something, no doubt. Or, okay, it was a bathroom, maybe someone just needed to pee.

About forty seconds after that there was an ominous creak from the stall next to his and as he was sitting up straighter to yelp "what the HELL?" as something small, hard and- well, aerodynamic hit him clean on the head, slipping past his forehead (messing up his _hair_ ) and landing neatly in his hand.

Smarties.

He was on his feet in a second, grinning wildly, looking up just in time to see Fraser perched over the top of the plasterboard, grinning back at him, hat sitting perfectly level. Just in time to see a wholly unusual expression of shock chase across Fraser's face as something he was standing on gave one final this-is-it creak and buckled, taking him down with it.

No one could really blame Ray for laughing, right?

Once he'd stopped, or, well, mostly, he shoved through the unlocked door, grabbed Fraser's wrist and helped tug him back onto his feet. Still grinning. Still grinning even as Fraser pulled him in further, cramping up their shoulders into too-small a space as he snaked one arm behind Ray, pushing the stall door closed but not managing to lock it because right after that he was shoving Ray up against the door in turn (more ominous creaks, but the door could take it, didn't get abused on so nearly a regular basis as the rest of the stall), body hot and solid against Ray's, visibly thrumming with anticipation.

"You know, Ray, that chocolate is going to melt if you keep holding the packet so tightly," and he was gesturing with his index-finger at the Smarties crumpled in Ray's fist, still.

Never let go of chocolate, that was his motto. Well, one of 'em, anyway. An aggressive pointed finger turned into a wicked caress as it drifted into contact with his wrist, slipping underneath the cuff of his shirt and scraping over the thin skin covering the veins there.

Ray shivered appreciatively and forgot all about the smarties. Hell, they tasted just as good melted anyway. Ducked his chin so he could look up at Fraser (because that got him hot faster than anything else), so he could do that girl thing of looking up through his lashes and oh yeaaaaah, because Fraser was shoving into him harder, one hand fisted against the door, just above Ray's shoulder and the other tight on his jaw, and Ray licked his lips because he knew exactly what that did, too, and Fraser drove him nuts, drove him so fucking crazy and it was only fair.

Fraser made a muffled, very un-regulation type groan at that and pushed into Ray harder, squirming, rubbing very deliberately against him, knuckles sliding down the plasterboard hard enough that the one tiny part of Ray's brain that wasn't just yelping "do me do me do me now" was wondering if you could get splinters off this stuff. His breath puffed warm against Ray's cheek, panting, eyes hard. He still hadn't caved, hadn't kissed him, and he wanted to - they both did - but this just seemed to be how they were, how there was always skin before kissing, like they had to hold it off for as long as possible, because it was either too good or maybe it was that it could mean too much if they didn't have the excuse of all the pent up... whatever it was. Whatever it was or wasn't, Ray's hands were working fully on automatic now (good training, he told them silently) and were curling around Fraser's hips, sliding up his back, straining to dig into the muscles of his shoulders before flattening out, palms sliding, catching on the rough material of Fraser's shirt and then, glory be, sneaking up and under, finally getting bare skin, and Fraser's head dropped heavily onto Ray's shoulder, forehead knocking against the door as Ray's hands went for the prize, wrists turning out just enough to push under the waistband of Fraser's trousers, blunt nails scoring across the skin of his backside. Fraser melted against his hands, melted into his mouth, all friendly heat and wholly better than chocolate.

"Yeah," he panted, pausing minutely to lick at Fraser's earlobe "missed you too, Fraser."  


  
_part II._

Fraser shuddered against him, again, and this time it was Ray's head that connected with the door, an echoing rap that not only made him bite his tongue (aw, shit, that was not on the plans at all, he thought, gingerly pressing it up against the back of his teeth in an effort to stop the throbbing) and set his head ringing, but also served to remind him of just exactly where they were.

And while it was be nice (to say the least) to jump Fraser's bones right on there in the 2-7, probably that would turn out to be a mistake somewhere down the line. Like, any time he needed to be taken seriously again ever.

"Fraser. Fraser. We hafta-" biting his lip, this time, and shit that hurt, but Christ, Fraser's mouth, lapping cleverly at the crook of his neck and slowly shorting out what little remaining brains he actually had, and without even thinking he tightened his grip, nice double handful of fine Fraser ass, and Fraser jerked hard in response, teeth clamping down on Ray's collarbone and his head slammed into the door again and there was just- there was no way he was getting out of this with any dignity intact, that was for sure. "Fraser, we have to go. Somewhere else." Whining, now, which was kind of undignified in a grown man, but screw it, his shift was, well, pretty much over and he just wanted to go home and do lewd, filthy things with his partner. In a nice comfortable bed. Or at the very least, behind a locked door.

Fraser mumbled something into Ray's skin and shook his head, hair tickling at Ray’s chin. Screwing his eyes closed, he took a deep, slow breath, reminding himself of all the reasons this was a bad idea, following that up by removing his hands to the safer territory of Fraser's side (sparking a low needy moan from Fraser, something that was brand shiny new and they would definitely be exploring that one at a later juncture) and shoving him gently back.

Well-mannered as always (well, usual, at least) Fraser took the half step back, staring at Ray much the same as, well, Dief with a donut. Ray felt that one trip all the way down his spine and shot him a toothy grin, before slinking forward just enough to open the door and stride out, safe in the expectation that Fraser would follow.

Welsh was hollering something in their direction as they cut across the bullpen, but since it sounded along the lines of "Welcome back Constable Fraser, I see you found Vecchio" he figured it was safe to just acknowledge that with brief waggle of his fingers, striding out towards the car park without even a backwards glance.

They were less than a block from the station before Ray was feeling the creeping temptation to reach over and touch Fraser. Just a hand on his thigh (yeah, right) or maybe his knee. Just pet that soft denim that fit him so well once, or maybe twice, enough to hold him over 'til they got back to his apartment. Gritting his teeth, Ray flicked his eyes to the speedo and then back over to Fraser and accelerated slightly. Probably it was a clue to how bad Fraser wanted him back that he didn't even say anything. Just wrenched his head around to look out the window. Safest, most likely.

And then they were just pulling into Ray's street when Fraser went tense for an entirely different reason, straightening up as his head whipped around to follow the car pulling out in the opposite direction.

"Criminals, Ray."

No, no, no, no fucking way, not now, shit- and Ray hit the gas, flicked on the screamer and the lights and peeled out after them. He'd have whined at Fraser about the timing (what, couldn't anyone else go after the bad guys for once?) but that wasn't going to get him anywhere and he knew it.

One hour, one shot-out tire - belonging to the bad guys, luckily - a scratch on the side of the Goat that hurt his soul and one very uncomfortable dive into Lake Michigan (what, did Fraser have a magnetic attraction to that body of water or something?) and three arrests later they were pulling back into Ray's apartment building. He'd told the uniforms on the scene quite shortly that they'd both be in to make statements later but right now they were outta there before his partner froze off anything important.

"Oh, my brain is quite fine," Fraser had assured him, with an evil little glint in his expression that was for Ray and Ray alone, playing super-Mountie to the hilt.

Ray didn't even say anything about the way that Fraser was drenching his upholstery, mostly because even though he was shivering and a little paler than usual (and he sped up again a little more at that thought, gotta get him home and warm) there was something just so damn cute about the way his hair was plastered to his head and the little trickles of water he kept blinking out of his eyes. Made him look all of about sixteen and made Ray feel like an absolute pervert. In a good way, mind.

He flashed back to the image of Fraser collaring the guy who'd gone in the lake along with all of the 'merchandise' as they took the stairs at double-time and couldn't quite restrain the snicker that bubbled up.

"What?" Ooh, mildly pissy Fraser. Even more fun than soaking-wet Fraser. Guess those wet clothes really had to... chafe.

"Nothing much," unlocking the door, jabbing the key in with unnecessary force when it resisted his first attempts to twist open, "just, well, you ending up with a bath toy where your hat shoulda been might just have been the funniest thing I've seen all week."

Fraser rolled his eyes and grumbled, but there was a smile tugging at the corners of 'em which suggested he did agree with Ray, just wasn't quite ready to find it funny yet.

And then they were inside, and stumbling, and Ray was shoving Fraser back into the coat closet by the door, just needing something, something solid to lean on, and tugging off his clothes, water dribbling over his fingers, Christ, that was cold, pressing himself right up against Fraser's cool skin, nuzzling, nipping and finally just plain stealing his mouth, and as his eyes fluttered shut in the smooth burn of it all he spared just a moment to wonder why exactly it was that every crime syndicate in Chicago used rubber duckies to smuggle contraband.

 _part III._

And then he was wondering why he was wasting precious brain space on wondering about anything else, when obviously the only important thing going on right then was the way that Fraser was running his hands up and down Ray's chest, stroking, possessing, _ripping open his jeans_ \- Ray groaned and fell more heavily against him, trapped him in the corner, with rain jackets and old coats and all the other collected junk that made its way into that space pressed close around them both, and his boot heels slipped on a magazine he must've thrown in there a while back and Fraser had one arm around his waist, bracing, holding him tight and steady and the other hand, oh Christ, the other hand was inside his pants, not even bothering with polite hellos and how-are-yous, just settling right down to business, squeezing and stroking, just rough enough, and Ray was trying to move, squirming, but his jeans were stuck halfway down his thighs and as good as locked him in position.

He whimpered loudly, startling a huff of laughter out of Fraser as he shifted in response, rubbing himself against Ray's hip almost absently as he kept his hand moving, fingers sure and confident - arrogant - on Ray's skin, teasing him into all kinda of sharp high noises that he would deny flat out making any other time, tugging just enough to make it good, nice and easy does it, and Ray couldn't take it any longer, lent in again and mashed his face into Fraser's, bit at his lips, swiped across his tongue, teeth clashing, breathing him, drinking him in, and it hurt like a bitch, the sting of his tongue where it was cut from earlier, the tiny little bruises announcing themselves all over his mouth, but Christ, so worth it to hear Fraser moaning into him, for the way they could just hang on to each other and just do this.

Fraser found just enough energy from somewhere to add a sneaky little twist of the wrist into things and that was it, Ray was coming, thank you kindly and good night, greying out around the edges as he drove himself into Fraser's hand, back arching and toes curling as he slumped into Fraser's solid presence, breathing hard around the mouthful of shoulder he'd acquired in those last hazy seconds, fiercely clinging to the sense-memory of Fraser jerking hard against him, the way he'd yelled.

"Mmmmf." Oh, yeah, he could just... curl up here and sleep, that'd be nice. Close his eyes and lean on Fraser ‘til he shut up and went to sleep too. Even better.

"Ray, can we-" hands pushing him back onto his heels, moving him incrementally, inevitably further away. "-just move a little, please," and then he forced his eyes open to see Fraser, half-naked, rumpled, pink and sweaty and still looking entirely edible, rubbing his temple ruefully. "Really, Ray, we have to choose more suitable venues. I think I hit my head."


End file.
